Tyranny's Blood
by PastaInABox
Summary: Arthur is the King of Britian after a long, brutal war. With England the victor, Arthur's power brings a Tyrant to the throne, forcing the Phantomhives to step in, but will Arthur's reign last any longer? Brief FrUK warning, character deaths, Dark!England
1. Rising to Power

**Warning for brutal character deaths, Yaoi (Extra warning for FrUK), maybe a tiny bit of OOC-ness (In my opinion), a small bit of bad language at one point, and non-randomness. I've been in a Hetalia mood lately, and couldn't resist after watching a few videos. The italic lyrics belong to a song I've heard after watching a Pirate!England cosplay vid, and listening to the song itself. See if you can recognize it ;) Warning for pure Dark!England. Again, I couldn't resist. **

**Yes, this is a Hetalia and Kuroshitsuji crossover, and a serious one at that. After watching a few episodes of Kuro, in which Baldroy was *spoiler* found on a battlefield after war by Sebastian. It got me thinking; sense Baldroy was on the American side, perhaps they were fighting the British, with Arthur as their lead? What if, finally, Arthur made his way to the top rank after the war, forcing the Phantomhives of London to step in, to end the tyranny? **

**Eventually, I snapped and decided to write this, so yeah. And, I've been learning about the wars and stuff in civics class lately, so Hetalia makes learning a snap now. xD**

**Anyways, this took me weeks to do, and one of which those weeks involved a load of exams that are, thankfully, over. I had to hold off on writing for that week to focus more on my exams than my laptop, plus the stress of homework the following week. I've been writing this on/off ever sense. _ Gah. So, anyways, enjoy. Review please 83 **

**WARNING: This is extremely, extremely long. I originally intended not to separate this into chapters, to leave it as a one-shot, but it's just so long o_o So, go grab some popcorn and enjoy. **

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Arthur lay there, simply lay there, along the bloodstained battlefield, his emerald-green gaze slowly flickering open.

The battered bodies of his soldiers lay scattered around him, mingled with the American soldiers…the trap had been set, and had successfully went off. But, at a price. However long the battle had raged, Arthur truly couldn't recall; had it been hours, days? All he could remember was the screams, the gunshots, the flashes of red blinding his vision as he slaughtered every damned, rival soldier around him…Arthur shook his head slightly, blinking away the blurriness out of his eyes. Steadily, he shifted a bit, testing his practically aching body; so far, no missing limbs, which was a good sign.

Pleased and a bit relieved to find himself fully intact, the Brit hesitated for a moment, before carefully sitting up with a faint wince. A few cuts and scrapes scarred his flushed, dusty cheeks, while a dark bruise around his, now that he realized it, swelling left eye, signaled the hit that had rendered him unconscious the remainder of the battle.

Cringing a bit as his head began to throb painfully, Arthur carefully sat up, black-gloved hand straying beside him, where he instinctively clutched the long rifle laying on the blood-soaked ground. The feeling of security just faintly calmed the Brit at the touch of the weapon alone. After a moment, Arthur slowly glanced around him, taking in the grim sight around him. Each body lay still, motionless, crimson blood pooling around them.

The Brit's emerald gaze momentarily caught the limp body of one American; the Head General. Oh, how revenge was sweet, as the memories came slowly back. He had caused the General's fall, just as he had swore to himself, moments before the battle had begun.

The General would die at his hands. And Arthur had succeeded.

The faint beginnings of a smirk curled at Arthur's lips, a dark glimmer in his gaze.

_How it all began _

_If truth be told_

_Had a master plan _

_Now I rule the world _

The General was dead. And he, the true General of the British, was living. Once again, he had won.

The twisted, pleasurable feeling spread throughout Arthur-he'd led his soldiers to victory. But alas, he knew well, that while the fight was over, the true war had just begun, no matter the victor.

Smirking faintly, the Brit slowly staggered to his feet, carefully straightening up the feather-tipped hat atop his head, other hand clutching his rifle. Arthur reached down with his free hand, feeling around his belt; the smirk on his features grew wider as his hand lightly traced the hilt of his silver, curved sword. He had his weapons, his soldiers were dead. But they'd still won this battle. They were all dead, all except for him.

Arthur glanced back toward the body of the rival country's General, turning slightly and silently walking over, using the edge of his heel to prod the General's side, turning the dead man onto his side. No breathing detected, while a bullet wound oozed dried crimson blood along his head, followed by a nasty slice across his chest. Blood soaked his chest, forming into a crimson pool around him. Ah, yes. The memory was now fresh in the Brit's mind…

_**Shoot. Just shoot.**__ Hands shaking, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, Arthur narrowly ducked down in time as a bullet whizzed past his head, striking one of his own unlucky soldiers behind him. He could've sworn he was hearing his heart race madly in his chest, pounding in his ears as they drowned out the shouts, the screams, the gunshots around him. _

_Raising his head back up, his thumb remained on the trigger as his emerald gaze locked on his target, coming closer and closer…__**Just shoot! **__The trigger quivered beneath his thumb; but not before he felt the rough kick on his shoulder, knocking him off balance-in a matter of seconds, he recovered from the sudden blow, his survival instincts kicking in. _

"_Cease your attempts, Kirkland. We won't fail again." Arthur's rifle clattered to the ground, and the Brit instinctively grasped the sword on his belt, rolling swiftly out of the way as the General's sword slashed at him, striking where the Brit had been just seconds before. _

"_You and your filthy country have grown rather cocky. You will be the one who fails, I'm afraid." Arthur sneered lightly, staggering to his feet as the wild fire flashed in his gaze, the urge to kill, the urge to destroy, steadily beginning to take hold of him. "Great Brittan will rise." _

_Heart pounding in his ears, Arthur turned sharply, dodging to avoid an incoming blow from the opposing rival's sword. As another blow came toward him, Arthur blocked it easily with his own weapon, blades clanging as they hit one another, both stained in crimson blood. _

_He wasted no time, seizing his brief chance as he swiftly pushed forward with his weapon, then delivered a kick to the General's stomach, sending him flying backward into the ground. Before his enemy could respond, Arthur turned, reaching down and grasping a hold of his rifle in his free hand, then strode forward, his emerald eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as he raised his curved sword, bringing it down. _

_The blade sliced mercilessly across the General's chest, blood pouring out of the deep wound as the General let out a strangled gasp of pain. The Brit had beaten him so easily, it was practically pitiful. _

"_I swore I'd kill you. I never go back on my word." Arthur hissed out, sheathing the bloody sword and raising his rifle, cocking it swiftly. Once again, he wasted no time, catching the brief glimpse of the General's angered, half-lidded gaze, before the haunting gunshot rang through the air, the bullet whizzing forward and piercing into flesh. _

_Blood-red flashed in Arthur's vision, blinding him with a lust for death. _

_However, the Brit's victory was short-lived, as in a matter of seconds, fist met eye, and red was replaced into unforgiving darkness. _

"Such a pity…" Arthur purred out in a soft, mocking whisper as he gazed down at the limp body, eyes narrowed, before turning away, a cruel glimmer in his emerald-green eyes.

_Took 'em by surprise _

_Worked my way uphill _

_They looked into my eyes _

_I became invincible _

_No one, can stop me_

_For only, I am in control_

His emerald gaze shifted to the side for a moment; however, the Brit, rather suddenly, froze on the spot. The smallest flicker of movement caught at the corner of his eyes, placing Arthur on high alert.

_Not possible. _Arthur thought, rather bitterly; how someone could have survived, with the exception of himself, of course, shocked Arthur. Carefully, the Brit turned slightly, emerald eyes scanning the bloody battlefield.

For a moment, Arthur saw nothing but the limp, dead bodies around him, and he mentally scolded himself for being foolish enough to allow the war to get to his head. He was just seeing things, wasn't he? Being in battle for so long could weaken the sanity of any man.

However, as Arthur took a step forward, he just barely felt the dull gun tip pressing against the center of his back, causing the Brit to freeze on the spot.

"Heh, Arthur Kirkland. Typical for you to assume you were the last man standing." The voice was just faintly familiar; no accent, clearly American, too cocky and proud.

"Hello, Baldroy. You poor little git. Typical for _you _to be ignored, and by your own General no less. Imagine if he had listened to you, believed you about my little trap. The victory wouldn't have been mine. What a shame." Arthur sneered faintly, his lips curling up into a faint smirk.

Of course. It was _that _one.

The poor, helpless soldier, who was the only one of America's lot of soldiers who bore a working brain.

The only one who had been aware of a possible trap in the direction of his country's soldiers.

Baldroy.

Arthur truly hadn't seen much of the rival soldier, mainly only in recent battles. However, the rumors spread quickly among Arthur's own troops, of one rival soldier knowing of their plan to attack.

"What a shame indeed." The sarcasm was clear in the other's rather disgusted tone.

The pressure of the rifle against Arthur's back lessened for a second, allowing Arthur to abruptly jump aside, emerald eyes locking on the red-clad soldier behind him; a man with messy, blonde hair, blue eyes, and the beginning of stubble on his chin, holding a rifle similar to Arthur's.

"Look at you now, dear Baldroy. All of your side is dead. The victory is mine, as it always has been. However, I see one flaw." Arthur snickered softly, giving a slightly innocent tilt of his head as he observed Baldroy for a moment, carefully raising his own rifle. "With you alive, I cannot officially claim my victory, can I?"

Baldroy froze for a moment, before snapping to attention and swiftly ducking, followed by a quick roll on his side as Arthur shot once at him. "Helpless git." Purred Arthur, the wild, sadistic glimmer in his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Fight like a man. You are no mouse, fit for the title of a coward and waiting to be pounced on, are you?"

"I'm no coward, Kirkland. You are the coward." Baldroy spat out, blue eyes narrowed in a sharp glare as he quickly sat up, aiming and firing at Arthur, who quite easily, whipped out his sword, deflecting the bullet back, much to Baldroy's astonishment.

Visibly, the Brit's left eye twitched once at the mere word, signaling the slightest lack of sanity left within him. "You dare call me a coward?"

Arthur's tone has grown dangerously calm voice; a low, hissing whisper. Baldroy just barely managed to duck once more before staggering to his feet as another bullet was shot, which narrowly whizzed past his leg.

"You call me, the true King of Britain, the one who destroyed your country's best General, who led countless wars, a coward?" Steadily, Arthur advanced toward Baldroy, anger flickering in his dangerous gaze as he raised his rifle again, firing.

The bullet grazed Baldroy's arm, causing the soldier to cringe and stagger, blood welling up even at the slight wound.

"You are wrong, Baldroy."

_If you, want me, _

_You better contact my people. _

_In my crown, I am king ,_

_I love their endless worshiping._

Arthur abruptly turned, raising his leg and kicking the lowered rifle out of Baldroy's hands, before swiftly raising his sword in his free hand and swinging it. Baldroy barely managed to grasp Arthur's wrist as the sword was brought down, just barely keeping the shining, metal blade inches above his neck.

"You can't kill me, Baldroy." Arthur hissed out, only able to lean back as Baldroy lightly pushed, doing his best to keep the sword from going any further near his neck.

"Who says I can't try?" Baldroy retorted lowly, grunting a bit before Arthur, frustrated, released the sword, causing Baldroy to stumble onto his back, the blood-stained sword clattering to the ground.

Glaring darkly, Arthur stepped back, raising his rifle.

_I am raw, a dinosaur, _

_But I will never be extinct, _

_So don't mess with me,_

_I'll shoot you down _

_Don't mess with me._

"Don't underestimate me, Baldroy. Your country will die, as will you. All because no one would listen to you." Arthur loaded the rifle, placing his thumb on the trigger as Baldroy staggered back to his feet, stepping back, eyes wide with alarm and anger.

"Long live Great Britain."

With those final words, the maddening gleam flashing in Arthur's piercing, emerald-green gaze, the Brit pulled the quivering trigger.

"The war appears to be over; I see no reason to become so violent, sir. Although, do forgive my intrusion."

Arthur froze. Before he knew it, the Brit had begun trembling, his emerald-green eyes growing wide with shock. _Bloody hell…bloody hell…_

"Here, I suppose this belongs to you." The fired bullet was dropped into Arthur's front coat pocket, the white-gloved hand having held it steadily pulling back. Baldroy was a few feet away…_unharmed_.

Slowly, Arthur's emerald gaze flickered up-only to momentarily lock with a pair of mesmerizing, crimson-red eyes, the color of the darkest blood. The Brit's blood turned icy cold. He knew those eyes.

"N-no…" Arthur's cheeks flushed dark red as he realized how weak he was now looking, his trembling only growing by the second, and the sadistic fire in his eyes melting away entirely. "Y-you…you're a…" Arthur couldn't bring himself to finish. In his years of daily battle training, with the constant addition of witchcraft and magic, only on rare occasions had he encountered the hellish beasts; the eyes always gave them away.

The man in front of him, clad in a black Butler's uniform, with short, silky black hair and pale skin, silently observed the shaking Brit for a moment. A calm smile was spread across the man's features, which seemed to unsettle Arthur further. "Is something wrong, Mister Kirkland?" The man drawled out with a soft, almost taunting chuckle, his crimson gaze locking with the Brit's.

"No…n-no…" Arthur practically choked out, eyes narrowing as he gritted his teeth, staring into the depths of those devilish, crimson orbs, pupils slitting like a feline. A lump formed in the Brit's throat, and he swallowed uneasily. He wouldn't let himself submit to this being. Not yet.

The smile remained on the man's face, and he gave a slight tilt of his head, a flicker of curiosity flashing in his crimson eyes as Arthur turned slightly, carefully aiming the gun directly at him. Baldroy could do nothing but sit there, gaping in astonishment and alarm. In a matter of seconds, Arthur, trembling, had mindlessly pulled the trigger; the bullet successfully hit its target, piercing straight through the man's chest-where that cold, barely-beating heart should be.

He knew that creature would never die. He knew it was useless to fire. As shaken as he was by this creature's appearance, it greatly disturbed the Brit. Yet, with everything the Brit was forced to see and hear on a daily basis; limp, dead bodies, blood-stained battlefields, merciless killings, the shrieks and cries of pain-out of all of it, a Demon was what, mentally, was setting Arthur hysterical. Oh, the irony.

"Damned creature…your kind never dies…" Arthur hissed out, while the man staggered slightly. Blood streamed out from the wound in his chest, beginning to soak his black outfit. Keeping an oddly calm attitude, the man only chuckled a bit at Arthur's words, giving a slight shake of his head. "What a silly assumption, Mister Kirkland." He glanced down at the blood-pulsing wound at his chest, observing it for a moment.

"Oh, dear. Look what you've gone and done. You've ruined a perfectly good waistcoat. No matter; it can be fixed in due time. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mister Baldroy and I have business to speak of. I'm afraid you will not be killing this man." Smiling calmly, the Demon turned and reached out, gripping the tip of the rifle in one gloved hand; with an effortless twist, it was completely bent to the side.

Arthur's eyes widened, and he dropped the twisted rifle, his trembling worsening. Surprisingly, he didn't bother to protest, and instead, Arthur began _backing away_, feeling the Demon's crimson gaze burning into him as the Brit eventually and abruptly turned, taking off at a sprint.

As much as he didn't want this Demon to get the best of him, to make him feel vulnerable, he just couldn't hold back his fears. Now that he realized it, studying witchcraft back then now seemed like an awfully nasty idea…but no matter. That Demon was the least of his priorities.

_That __**thing **__doesn't matter, Arthur…Snap out of it. I've won. So what if one got away? One out of hundreds. I've won. Great Britain will rise, with me as the true King._

And thus, the rise of Great Britain indeed began; in the most brutal of various ways possible as the years slowly ticked by.

The 'true' King of Britain was announced.

And the fall of France, Spain, and Prussia commenced.

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**...You like? BD This may need revising and such, but I'm pretty much almost done with this, so might as well begin posting it. Enjoy~**

**-PastaInABox**


	2. A Tyrant's Lust

**Warning for FrUK here ;3 You may be surprised with how this leads. This is shorter than intended, sense the other part to this I wanted to add made it way too long for my liking.**

**Anyways, enjoy. **

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The cruel smirk tugged at the corners of Arthur's lips as he positioned himself properly on his throne. Beside him, stood a rag-clothed servant, holding a set of tea on a metal tray…however, upon close inspection, the identity of this servant was clear, his glasses broken on one of the lenses, shaggy, un-cut blonde hair partly covering his eyes.

"Alfred, my tea." The Brit's voice rang out, hinting with annoyance as he snapped a finger. Alfred did as told, averting his gaze from the Brit as he silently handed a cup of warm, steaming tea to Arthur, who gave a slight nod of approval, taking a sip. The Brit's emerald-gaze flickered around the fairly large throne room, colored shades of red and gold, before they settled on his other side as the Brit took another long sip of tea from his cup.

On his other side, a long, metal chain was bound tightly around the armrest of the throne chair, the chain leading down to the scarred neck of a man, clothed in white rags with curly but unkempt, blonde hair and dull, blue eyes.

Stubble could be seen on the man's un-shaved chin, his gaze focused absentmindedly on the ground where he sat, on his hands and knees. His body was clearly emaciated, the lines of his ribs faintly visible even through his rags. Just like Alfred, the man's identity was clear upon closer inspection.

Alfred silently raised his head slightly, unable to help but glance at the chained man, the metal digging sharply into the flesh of his neck. A flicker of pity and sympathy flashed in the American's gaze, which he quickly shifted back to the floor as Arthur glanced his way for a moment, then returned back to the chained man.

_Show me sex appeal _

_Get on your hands and knees _

_Forget about the meal _

_It's best, to keep me pleased. _

"Oh, Francis…" The smirk remained spread across the Brit's features, keeping his emerald-gaze locked on the Frenchman while he carefully handed the half-drunk cup of tea back to Alfred.

Yes, _Francis_. Revenge was indeed sweet.

At the mention of his name, Francis visibly grew a bit pale, which seemed to brighten Arthur's sadistic mood. "You needn't be so shy…" The Brit sneered darkly, reaching over slightly and clasping his hand around the end of the chain, followed by a swift, abrupt yank.

The Frenchman gasped, or rather, choked, as the chain tightened around his neck, digging into his flesh and drawing a few drops of crimson blood. Francis struggled to straighten up as Arthur gave another quick yank, making the Frenchman gag slightly, cringing.

"Has old Frenchie, the little pervert, lost his lust?"

Once again, Arthur yanked roughly on the chain, practically dragging Francis in front of him before reaching out with his free hand and grasping hold of Francis' chin.

"Not at all, your _Highness_." The bitter anger and sarcasm was clear in the Frenchman's tone, as he glared freely at the Brit whom he always had hated with a deep, fiery passion. But now, this hate was that and more. The Brit was, for once, forcibly violating him, instead of the other way around.

"Good," Arthur sneered, malice flickering in his emerald-green gaze as he leaned over, turning Francis' head roughly then releasing his chin and grasping hold of the chain once more.

"Behave, and perhaps I'll have the consideration to spare you another night more, you useless git." The Brit sniggered softly, lips momentarily at Francis' ear, before he lowered his head and teasingly drew his tongue along Francis' jaw line, growing steadily aroused. Alfred cringed and quickly averted his gaze, just faintly disgusted.

As much of a pervert Alfred had usually thought of Francis to be, he knew well that even the Frenchman wouldn't enjoy this, when it was so forced and unwilling. Francis closed his eyes, looking simply defeated, as he allowed the Brit to momentarily crash his lips with his own in a heated, forced kiss. Fighting back or protesting meant death, or the most brutal of torture on _King _Arthur's judgment. The Frenchman had no choice but to kiss back until Arthur pulled away from the kiss, feeling the Brit's free hand snake teasingly around his waist, pulling Francis slightly onto his lap.

A quick yank on the chain made Francis submit, holding back a pained yelp, and allow Arthur to pull his arms around the Brit's neck. Alfred hesitated, then glanced at the two; at this position, Arthur and Francis seemed to look more like a mother cradling a frightened child, the way Francis was forcibly pressed against the Brit, arms around his neck, eyes shut.

It wasn't like Francis had a choice in the matter anymore.

_Imagine if you will _

_Our meet, on the block_

_I've got time, to kill _

_So how about a quick fuck?_

One hand clutching the end of the chain, the other now lightly stroking Francis' back, the smirk remained on Arthur's features. The memories came back, on the first day of enslavement for the Frenchman…

"_Tea-inhaling bastard!" Francis spat angrily, struggling madly against the soldier, who held his arms behind his back. _

"_Ah, Francis. Is that any way to respect your King?" Sneered Arthur as he silently strode forward, dressed in the attire of a dark red King's robe, the former King's crown perching on the Brit's head. In one hand, he held a long, metal chain, and in the other he held a curved, silver sword, which he raised, positioning the tip beneath the Frenchman's chin. Immediately, Francis' struggles ceased at the feeling of the cold blade on his skin; it seemed that, for once, the Brit meant business this time. _

"_You aren't my King." Francis growled lowly, his icy blue eyes narrowed as they stared into the emerald-green orbs of his sworn rival. "I beg to differ, Francis. Perhaps you will reconsider your words. Bow to and worship your new King, or death shall be your only savior in our darkened times." Arthur met the Frenchman's gaze steadily, for a moment his expression impassive, before the smirk appeared on his features. Francis hesitated to speak, knowing now that fighting meant death and humiliation. _

_Oh, how Arthur must have enjoyed seeing this, his one true rival forced into submission or pay with his life. The Frenchman clenched his teeth and forced himself to lower his gaze. Assuming Francis' silence to be the answer he expected, Arthur snickered softly, lowering the sword at Francis' chin. "Much better, Francis. Take him away." _

_With a dismissive wave of Arthur's hand, the soldier restraining Francis gave a slight nod of understanding, and then did as told, practically having to drag the Frenchman away from the smug, morbidly satisfied Brit. _

"_I'm surprised at you, Francis. Isn't this natural for you? I'd expect a pervert to enjoy this." The mock surprise in Arthur's tone only angered Francis, who struggled slightly, pulling at the metal chain tightened around his neck. His torn, bloody war clothing had been stripped, then replaced with tattered and worn, white rags, and the added chain around Francis' neck made him feel like a trapped animal rather than a sentenced slave. _

_And here he was on the 'King's' bed, chained up like a dog, as he continued the futile attempt to yank off the chain, refusing to respond to Arthur's words. But yet, the brisk yank from the other end made Francis gasp, followed by a short gag as the chain tightened, burying itself in the skin of Francis' throat. "Ah, ah, ah, Francis." Arthur scolded, his teasing, mocking tone hinted with the sweet cruelty that only the ruling Brit could obtain. "Behave, will you? Filthy little wanker." _

"_Watch yourself, Kirkland. I'm not yours to command." Francis forced out in a low, raspy growl, the pain in his neck lessening as the pressure on the chain slackened just a bit. _

"_Incorrect, Francis. Ever sense your submission, I've claimed you as my own. I can do what I please with you. Help you, cherish you, kill you. Personally, the latter would be more of my cup of tea." Arthur snickered softly, shifting positions so that he was seated at the other side of the bed, opposite of Francis, with the end of the chain clenched in one of his hands. _

"_If you want to kill me, then do it. I'd rather die than listen to you blabber any longer." Hissed Francis in protest, his icy blue eyes narrowing; his words were rewarded with a swift yank of the chain, causing the Frenchman to utter a faint, yelp of pain as the pressure of the chain choked him. _

"_Be careful for what you wish for, frog." It took a moment for Francis to realize the dangerous, whispering words sounding at his ear, feeling himself abruptly pinned to the bed; even now, Arthur's speed and strength came as quite a surprise to the Frenchman. Another yank of the chain forced Francis to look up with a pained cringe, finding himself face to face with Arthur. _

"_I'd truly be cautious if I were you. One wrong slip, and it'll be your neck." Arthur hissed out, lips lightly brushing Francis' ear. "Now, let's try this again, shall we?" Francis felt the chain's pressure slacken for only a split second before it was yanked once more, yet this time, he forced himself to keep an impassive expression, holding back any abrupt cries or helps of pain. _

"_As your King, I command you," The lips at Francis' ear trailed down to his chin and up, where the Brit's tongue darted out, teasingly licking along the Frenchman's jaw line. Arthur's free hand reached up, covering Francis' eyes as he whispered out the two words; words that Francis knew would only declare Britain's dominance over him. _

"_Pleasure me." _

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**Mwuaha, hope you're enjoying it. ;3 **

**-PastaInABox**


	3. No Mercy

**I'm so gonna get shot for doing this XD Warning for character deaths. No haters for what happens here, please. o_o I'm sorry D; -blames Arthur- But don't worry. They'll be avenged...eventually. ;)**

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The abrupt knocking on the front doors to the throne room jerked Arthur back to reality, and he immediately shoved Francis off of him, who couldn't help but yelp in surprise and alarm.

"Alfred." Arthur snapped a finger, inclining his head to the door and brushing himself off. Alfred jerked to attention, giving a quick nod; he glanced once at Francis for a moment before he turned and hurried to the front doors. Francis was on his hands and knees on the floor, receiving a swift kick from Arthur.

The Frenchman yelped painfully, however he gagged as Arthur yanked the chain back, pulling Francis backward until he was half-laying and half-crouching beside Arthur's throne, panting softly as thin trails of blood trickled down his neck, his limbs trembling. Alfred did his best to ignore Francis' previous yelp and pained gag, knowing all too well what had come to the Frenchman; in a moment, he reached the door, pulling it open in silence.

Arthur was now straightened up properly on his throne, a royal yet intimidating appearance at first glance, his icy, emerald gaze flickering to the people stepping into the throne room. Several soldiers filed in, followed by two men bound in chains, their heads lowered and identities hidden while Alfred shut the door behind then, hurrying back to his place beside Arthur's throne.

Two of the soldiers slowly pulled out swords out of their sheaths, keeping the tips to the chained men's backs, ushering them forward until the two men stopped a foot or two away from Arthur's throne.

They both dropped to their knees in unison, before finally raising their heads. Alfred's stomach dropped, while Francis, failing miserably at avoiding eye contact, only froze, the pain in his eyes masking the alarm.

_I've come, it's been fun,_

_But won't you please disappear? _

_Something, tells me, that you can't further my career. _

Yet, the cruel smirk tugged at the corner of Arthur's lips at the sight of the two hauntingly familiar men; one with short and silvery-grey hair, the other with short, black hair. "Ah…Gilbert and Antonio. Finally given up, have you?" Arthur drawled out silkily, the smirk still etched across his features.

The Prussian dared to give a slight glare at Arthur, his crimson eyes narrowed, while the Spaniard didn't respond, quietly looking away and avoiding eye contact.

"You know better, Kirkland. I don't give up without a fight. If all you can think the worst you can do is enslave us, you're as foolish as you were when this battle began. My country won't submit to you." Gilbert growled out, momentarily meeting now startled eyes with the Brit.

Arthur seemed a bit taken aback at the Prussian's words; until now, not many had dared to talk back to him, let alone refuse to submit to him.

"You little scoundrel…" Arthur hissed, his emerald-green eyes narrowing as his smirk was replaced by a cold scowl. "You dare talk back to your King? How foolish." Arthur held out a hand and snapped a finger, his emerald gaze never leaving the Prussian. Alfred's stomach turned, and he hesitantly picked up a sword sheath sitting on the table beside him.

Silently, he removed a large, silver sword from the sheath, carefully handing it to Arthur as the Brit stood up from his throne. By now, how easily the Brit could snap didn't come as much of a surprise to Alfred.

_In my crown, I am King. _

_I love their endless worshiping, _

_I am raw, a dinosaur, _

_But I will never be extinct. _

Arthur leaned forward slightly, placing the tip of the sword beneath Gilbert's chin, forcing him to look up.

"I've given you your chance, Gilbert, and you've just lost that chance. I've brought you here, and by God, I'll make sure I'll kill you here if I must." Arthur hissed, face inches apart from Gilbert's.

The Prussian merely glared at Arthur for a moment, his crimson eyes narrowed, before he abruptly spat in Arthur's face, a trail of wet saliva dripping down Arthur's cheek.

"Then kill me, you fucking bastard. Death would be a relief from living under your rule."

The entire throne room went dead silent as the Prussian's words were spoken.

_So don't mess with me, _

_I'll shoot you down, _

_Don't mess with me._

Alfred's jaw dropped, and Francis cringed, looking away. The Spaniard kept his head lowered, while the soldiers in the room remained silent, expressions impassive. They all knew well what was coming.

Finally, Arthur slowly raised his head slightly, reaching up his hand and carefully wiping off the trail of saliva in one swift movement. His emerald eyes bore into the Prussian's for a moment, and he slowly lowered the sword tip from Gilbert's chin. For a split second, it seemed as though the Prussian would be spared from the Brit's anger, due to the momentary blank stare given by the Brit, his head tilting ever so slightly, almost erilly. But, that wasn't so.

"If you insist." Arthur suddenly retaliated, abruptly swinging down the sword.

_**Thunk. **_

Alfred shut his eyes to avoid looking at the grim sight before him. Francis refused to tear his gaze away from the floor alone, not daring to glance over at Arthur…or the severed, clean-cut head of the Prussian laying in a pool of his own crimson blood at Arthur's feet.

'_Cause all your heads are gonna roll, _

_I've made your misery my goal._

_So if you want survival, kneel on my arrival,_

_For this is how I rule the world. _

Only Antonio flinched back, his eyes wide with horror as he stared at the headless corpse beside him. Arthur silently remained standing, his hand tight around the hilt of the silver sword, halfway dripping in dark, crimson blood. The glimmer of malice and content flickered in the Brit's emerald eyes as he silently took in the sight of now dead Prussian, a cold, cruel smile curling at his lips.

"Clean this up." Arthur merely nudged the severed head at his feet away with the tip of the blood-stained sword, motioning to the body afterwards. "And kill that one." Arthur's emerald-green gaze flickered to the Spaniard, who froze, beginning to tremble.

"N-no, Arthur, I implore you! Think this through! ¡Por favor! No puedes hacer esto! Arthur!" Antonio cried out as a soldier grasped him from behind, pulling him to his feet, while two others came forward, dragging out first the Prussian's body and afterward picking up and taking out his head.

The Spaniard's cries were unanswered as the soldier dragged him out of the throne room, Antonio's protests and yells eventually fading into dead silence.

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**/shot. **

**Muwhaha. -feeling evil- :3 **

**This will be updated fairly soon, note that this whole story still needs to be revised. **

**I'm in love with this story. **

**-PastaInABox**


	4. Unwanted Guests

**New chapter xP Switching POV for this chapter;** **The Phantomhives are finally deciding to step in ;) Sorry that it's so short xD A new update will be soon, hopefully ^J^ Enjoy, read and review please. **

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"Damn him. He has no right to do this, Sebastian." Ciel growled out, a glimmer of frustration flickering in his visible, icy blue eye, which narrowed at the black clad Butler sitting across from him.

King Arthur's reign had been a devastating blow to England, and the Phantomhives as well. According to reports, when Arthur returned from the war, Queen Victoria was forcibly removed from the throne at the threat of her life, reluctantly allowing Arthur to take her place in the throne. Rebels sided with the new 'King', therefore setting Britain in a state of chaos and bloodshed. Alliances were broken, the falling of other nations commenced as enemies were made, and all too many people were slain at Arthur's hands. Taxes were raised to alarming rates, and new rules were laid down. Soon after, the Phantomhives had been contacted, and Arthur had successfully shut down their Funtom Company.

The carriage Ciel sat in rode along the cobblestone road through the streets of London, and as the Earl glanced out the window, even he was startled by the sight before him. The windows of shops and homes were either shattered and cracked, boarded shut, or completely locked tight, while the occasional motionless yet battered and bloody body lay along the side of the street. Barely a single citizen was out, and if they were, they were hurrying to their homes, casting anxious glances around them. The sky was a dull, cloudy grey, the signal of a possible storm on the way.

As the carriage drove past, Ciel merely raised an eyebrow as they passed the Undertaker's Parlor; outside was the Undertaker himself, inspecting several battered and limp bodies laying on poorly-constructed cots while two men; whom Ciel immediately recognized as Fred Aberline and Arthur Randall; quietly conversed with the Undertaker, Aberline occasionally scribbling a few words on the ledger in his hand. The Undertaker glanced up once, the usual hearty, yet fairly disturbing grin spreading across his features at the sight of the Earl watching from the carriage. Grinning, the Undertaker casually waved a silent greeting, while Ciel merely scowled in response; Aberline and Randall glanced once in Ciel's direction, then looked away, expressions impassive while the carriage passed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ciel faintly noticed a woman briskly tugging her small child into their home, quickly shutting the door as a few soldiers clad in red waistcoats made their way past the home, marching together.

"Sebastian, have you given Baldroy transportation to the palace?" Ciel questioned quietly, tearing his gaze away from the soldiers. "Yes. He has insisted to come, although I do not blame him, my Lord. He should already be waiting for our arrival to Buckingham Palace." Sebastian replied in the same quiet tone, giving just the slightest tilt of his head. "From the moment I found him, was the moment I knew well enough that he has claimed a score to settle with King Arthur for the past few years."

"He's not the only one." Ciel scowled, a flicker of annoyance flashing within his light blue gaze.

"Our so called 'King' has made a mockery of the Phantomhives and their being. I won't allow it. He has never officially removed me from my position; no matter what he says, the Phantomhives will remain loyal to the Queen. Not that filthy tyrant. London is in havoc, and no one seems to be stepping up to end all of this." Hissed Ciel, an odd ferocity leaking into his tone, as he glanced back out the window.

The sickening sight of the gallows ahead twisted the pit of his stomach; just in time for an unlucky man to drop, the noose around his neck horribly tight. Crowded around were the previous red-clad soldiers, as well as a line of citizens, being forced to public execution. Yet, Ciel didn't look away from the grisly sight as the now limp, dead man was cut from the noose, another man taking his place.

"The soldiers are no worse than Kirkland." Ciel narrowed his eye for a moment, and then finally tore his gaze from the window as the new man dropped to his fate with the faint sound of a chilling gag.

"Indeed..." Sebastian raised his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering to settle on the young Earl. "My Lord…do you truly wish to do this?"

His Master's choice had, for once, proven difficult for the Butler to follow; no matter how many times it was discussed, each time at the manor, with each thought-out plan, Sebastian wasn't entirely convinced. For a moment, the Earl seemed to stiffen a bit, before he relaxed just slightly, doing his best to avoid meeting eyes with Sebastian.

"Yes. Do you dare question my order, Sebastian?" The Earl growled out slowly, new hostility flickering within his one-eyed gaze.

"No, my Lord." The Butler obediently dipped his head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing a bit. Without another word, Ciel glanced back out the window as the carriage quietly passed the gallows, the faint scent of death already beginning to leak its way into the air.

Up ahead was the silhouette of Buckingham Palace, slowly nearing as the carriage pulled up to the gate, where a familiar face awaited. Baldroy stood by the gate, two red-clad soldiers at his side.

As Sebastian glanced out the window at the cook, standing between the two soldiers, brought back an abrupt memory. That fateful day, finding Baldroy in the body-littered battlefield, at the gunpoint of the King himself. From that day, up until now, Baldroy had aged considerably, growing a bit more stubble, his features shifting just slightly. The accent remained the same, however, and the haunting image of that day never seemed to cease its mocking.

As the carriage slowed to a stop, Sebastian exited, walking around to the other side and opening the door for Ciel; in turn, the Earl stepped out of the carriage, Sebastian silently shutting the door behind him.

"My Master, our servant, and I have come to speak to his Majesty, King Arthur." Sebastian spoke up, inclining his head to Baldroy at the mention of a servant, his crimson gaze flickering to the red-clad soldiers while Baldroy stepped away from them and to Ciel's other side.

"I'm afraid we cannot allow you entry. King Arthur is not expecting visitors at the moment." One of the soldiers dared to speak up, flashing a slight glare at Sebastian, who returned the glare.

"Perhaps you will reconsider. We-" Sebastian began, however the butler was immediately cut off.

"I am Head of the Phantomhives and my position as the Queen's Guard Dog will be not be given up lightly. I demand an audience with our so-called King." Snapped Ciel, taking a step forward, a defensive glimmer flashing within his blue eye.

The soldier that had spoken immediately grasped Ciel's arm, forcing the Earl to step back. "Speaking ill of the King will result in immediate execution, no matter your position, _pup_. If we say you may not gain entry, then you are to abide by our words." Growled the soldier, eyes narrowed. The second soldier said nothing, only stepping back in slight alarm as Sebastian abruptly lashed out, grasping the previous soldier's wrist and twisting brutally. The soldier released Ciel with a pained yelp, crumpling to his knees as the small c_rack _indicated the breaking of his fragile wrist.

"My apologizes, sir. However, I must protest…none shall lay a hand on my master. Sir, if you would be so kind." Sebastian's tone was dangerously calm as he released the man's limp wrist, glancing at the second soldier and inclining his head to the locked gate. For a moment, the soldier hesitated, before backing away to the gate and hastily unlocking it, allowing it to creak open with a slight push.

"Thank you, sir. Bochann, after you. Baldroy, you as well." Sebastian smiled calmly at the soldier, who trembled slightly as he quickly hurried to the fallen soldier, who was still on his knees, now clutching his broken wrist. Ciel rubbed his arm slightly, giving a nod of approval before stepping in, followed by Baldroy and finally Sebastian.

The three entered through the gate without a word, Sebastian stopping momentarily to shut the gate behind them, giving a final, calmed smile at the two soldiers before turning and hurrying after Ciel and Baldroy.

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**Hope you enjoyed it ;) **

**-PastaInABox**


	5. Controlled

**Switching back to Arthur, Alfred, and Francis. New chapter, more on the way. -3- This chapter's rather short..it looked longer on four sheets of notebook paper =_= Eh, anyways, as a notice, in the final chapter I'll be added lyrics to another song, sense the song this fic is based off of is too short for my liking compaired to the lenght of this story 8P But, I won't say which is is yet, heh ;3 **

**Anways, I hope you enjoy it; read and review ^^**

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"Hey, Francis. Francis?" Alfred summoned up the courage to whisper, dull blue gaze flickering to the battered Frenchman, sitting on his knees, back to Alfred, and head lowered. With Arthur now gone to assure Antonio's execution, Alfred saw this as a perfect time to speak.

Francis hesitated, unsure for a moment, before he glanced up slightly, the tight chain around his neck rattling softly. The Frenchman remained quiet, anxious blue gaze flickering worriedly from side to side as he turned slightly to look at Alfred, as though he were afraid Arthur would come in at any moment.

"Hey, it's alright." Alfred's words were, of course, a futile attempt to cheer up the Frenchman.

"No, mon ami. It's far from alright. Gilbert is dead, and perhaps Antonio already is now. I hate him…filthy Brit…that damn bâtard knows nothing of freedom. Zis place is Hell." The ferocity in Francis' tone surprised Alfred; it looked as though Francis wasn't as weak and vulnerable as he seemed.

Francis lightly tugged at the chain around his neck, wincing as a thin trail of crimson-red blood streamed down his neck. Alfred sighed softly, glancing down for a moment.

"It's better than being killed off. It'll be over soon, I know it will. Arthur won't be King for long." Alfred hesitated, before walking over and kneeling beside Francis. "Trust me."

Francis looked away, a glimmer of frustration and sorrow in his eyes. "Alfred, it's been like this for _years_. I'm convinced it won't end soon." Francis replied hopelessly, a stubborn edge to his voice. Alfred shook his head, sighing before he hesitated, then reached over, and surprisingly enough, carefully unhooked the chain around Francis' neck, slackening the pressure altogether.

"Better?"

Alarmed, Francis rubbed his raw neck, for a split second looking rather panic-stricken. "A-Alfred? What…?"

"Might as well take in a breath of freedom while you can. Believe me, Francis. It'll all be over soon. You'll be free, I'll be free, everyone will be free. Someone just has to step up to do it."

Abruptly, the throne room doors swung open, and in strode Arthur. The trio froze on the spot at the sight of one another instantly. Francis shrank back slightly, and Alfred backed away a bit from the Frenchman.

_No one can stop me, _

_For only I am in control._

_And if you, want me, _

_You better contact my people._

Arthur slowly narrowed his eyes, lips in a tight line. "Well…it seems as though someone was helping the old frog, hm?" The Brit's words were slow and dangerously calm, a flicker of morbid amusement flashing in his emerald gaze. "Alfred?"

Slamming the door behind him, Arthur slowly strode forward, seeming to be advancing toward Alfred; that was, until he turned to the Frenchman, reaching down and reattaching the chain. Francis yelped painfully as the Brit cruelly tightened it, allowing a stream of fresh, crimson blood to drip. Arthur then yanked the chain upward, making Francis gasp, followed by a short gag as the tightened chain choked him mercilessly, like a dog wearing a choke collar.

"I'm afraid helping Frenchie here is useless, don't you think? What would that gain you, Alfred? The dwindling life of this man hanging over your head?" Growled Arthur, a cruel smirk curling at his lips.

Francis struggled a bit, gasping for breath as the chain tightened, hand scrabbling in vain at the bloody metal chain. Alfred straightened up, a new ferocity beginning to burn in his gaze as he found himself behind Arthur…a fatal mistake on the King's part.

"It gains freedom."

_See my crown, I am King. _

_You'll love the endless worshiping._

_I am raw, a dinosaur, _

_But I will never extinct._

In a split second, Alfred reached backward, grasping a small dagger sitting on the small round table next to Arthur's throne-in a matter of seconds, Alfred was holding the dagger at Arthur's throat, one arm wrapped around him. Pressing the edge of the blade to Arthur's skin, enough to draw a single drop, a single bead, of crimson blood, Alfred practically forced Arthur to drop the chain. Francis gasped for breath, grateful for the lack of deadly pressure from the bloody chain, and swiftly yanking the brutal chain off from his neck.

"Oh, Alfred…" Arthur narrowed his eyes, only able to keep still in order to avoid having a slit throat.

"Will you _ever _learn?"

"Francis, hurry. Go." Alfred growled out, letting out a small gasp as Arthur abruptly jabbed him in the gut with his elbow, which resulted in Alfred releasing him. Francis backed away slightly, fists clenched, yet he didn't run.

Arthur snatched the dagger out of Alfred's hand, turning sharply and…plunging the dagger into the side of Alfred's stomach.

_So don't mess with me. _

_I'll shoot you down. _

_Don't mess with me,_

_I'll knock you down. _

Alfred choked on his cry of pain, and Francis' breath caught in his throat.

"You've made a foolish mistake, Jones." Arthur hissed, pulling the dagger out slowly with a sickening squelching sound, crimson blood beginning to drip on the ground as Alfred dropped weakly to his knees. "Guards!" Shouted Arthur, and in response, the throne room doors creaked open, in hurrying two soldiers

"This man shall be charged for assault and attempted murder! Take him away, clean him up. An attempt to take my life deserves severe punishment, far worse than death. Take him to the torture chambers; when you've finished with him, bring him back here." Arthur growled, practically barking out the order, emerald eyes narrowed.

The Brit then inclined his head to the Frenchman, who froze fearfully. "One of you, put that damn chain back on my little pet. You're quite lucky you didn't run off, or you would have never seen the light of another day." Sneered Arthur; one of the two guards strode over, grasping Francis and dragging him to the throne.

"Keep that chain tightened; as tight as it can go, or perhaps, until the blood of his throat runs dry." The Brit's command was fulfilled; the guard reattached the chain properly, yanking it. Francis gasped painfully, throat already beginning to drip crimson.

"And you; go."

Arthur glanced at the other guard, inclining his head to Alfred, who still remained on his knees, chest heaving rapidly, hands clutching at and attempting to staunch his bloody wound.

The guard nodded, coming over and heaving the weakened American up, soon dragging him out of the throne room-and leaving a trail of scarlet blood behind him.

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**I'm sorry for any mechanical or grammer errors; I haven't yet revised this chapter, however I plan to when I have time. Hope you enjoyed; read, review, and most immortatly, comment please ^J^ **

**-PastaInABox**


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